The evening Courier
by ar-men15
Summary: An AU AU set in modern times and in modern Europe, a WIP that requires a long time to be completed. Following mainly book!canon with a different development in some characters. The Evening Courier is the most famous and known Italian newspaper, printed in the North of the country.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The prelude

The Evening Courier's front page, with a big bold black title, confirmed in the early morning what the breaking news on television had announced since midnight.  
Three members of a wealthy and well respected family of the North had been killed in the South in perfect criminal style, according to police first reports.  
Father, mother and their eldest son, a young man soon to be married, died under automatic rifles.  
The eldest daughter was kidnapped, the younger son seriously wounded on his back, a long and delicate surgery to save his life, not his legs.  
It wasn't an accident or a wrong target, the four killers entered into the restaurant overlooking the sea where the family was having a quiet dinner with their gusts – a Southern family business related - and went for their preys, locking the other customers and the restaurant staff in the cellar and then starting the carnage.  
The Police recognized the modus operandi of the killers, who sprung up from nowhere on powerful bikes, used silenced guns and left without traces in the night; the pizza delivery boy returned with the empty bag and discovered the massacre.  
Nobody saw anything or offered further details.  
It was the custom there, don't speak when the Dons strike.

The young woman with auburn hair felt the needle in her arm and her consciousness slowly fade away; she could remember few images only of the events of the evening. Single frames, never continuous. Like watching a photo exhibition rather than a movie.  
The waiter pouring them a bottle of cold sparkling white wine.  
Mother taking father's hand.  
Bran answering texts.  
Robb devouring his "pasta alla Norma".  
A group of four men entering and he strange expressions of the maitre's face.  
A rifle pointed at her.  
People falling.  
Red.  
A hole in her father's chest.  
Bran's back covered with blood.  
A man grabbing her arm, pulling her away.  
The street lamps going off.  
A dark van with the back door open. Then the darkness fell.

The key turned into the lock and a tall, slim figure entered the house on a rainy evening.  
Drops fell from his hands, his jaw and his hair, of an unusual length for a man.  
He got rid of the soaked coat, hanging it on the hook and went to the fireplace to heath the room.  
The house was humid, spring rain and ocean mist permeated the walls, for three long months no one had inhabited the cottage, every week the neighbours - the owners of the restaurant above the cove - controlled everything was ok. The man had told them it was a vacation cottage and he was travelling often for work, so he had no idea about his timing in visiting the place and he liked to have it always ready in case of a sudden decision to take a break.  
The man took three bags out of the car and put one into the kitchen, to store more food into the fridge and on the shelves.  
Tired, he needed to eat something hot and he decided for a frosted portion of Indian curry with rice to heat in the microwave.  
He ate it in front of the fire, in complete silence if only for the crackling logs; for a long time his life had been silence, the choices had been made long time before.  
The television was on, the volume off, the news were always the same. Wars, homicides, scandals, pollutions, natural disaster and the climate change; it was enough to read the headlines running below like a continuous river of sadness to be informed.  
The only news that caught his attentions were the photos of the family that had been killed ion the South of the bordering country. The daughter had stunning auburn hair.

The phone rang in the middle of the night; Sandor Hound, butler of Winterfell, answered it and immediately run up the stairs, shouting at high voice.  
"Signorina Arya! Signorina!"  
Hound knocked at Arya Stark's bedroom door in a frenzy way, a series of hard fists against the wood that shocked her; at first Arya thought it was a bad dream, a vivid real one, but the sound continued so she forced herself to leave her soft bed and opened the door, clad in a grey pijama. Her german shepherd Nymeria at her side, eyes wide alert; a danger was coming, the dog was sure.  
The butler handled her the phone.  
The chief inspector's voice – a woman's voice, strong, confident, calm, but with an unusual accent – asked Arya her identity and if he relatives were travelling South.  
"Mom, dad and my siblings are away. Dad's business trip South."  
"There had been a criminal raid, your relatives were the target. There's a plane at the air force base waiting for you to come here. I'll be at the landing to meet you with my men. You're under police protection from now on, a police car should already be at your door."

The old friars ate their lunch in silence while the younger one read from the bible, a tradition with roots in the past, for every shared meals.  
The hermitage once was home for a large fraternity, now there were only three friars, two well over seventy, one in his late thirties, tall and blond and by every standard beautiful as an angel.  
The respective past of the friars remained private, those who had left the mundane world for so many years didn't care anymore but for the young one memories were an enemy to fight and conquer like a lion with his prey.  
After having his own dinner and cleaning the table, he went to the hen-house to check the hens and took the water hose to water the orange and lemon plants in vases.  
When he pulled the hose to the terrace of the first floor, beside the walls of the chapel, he noticed the mailman car approaching, as every week. Few correspondence between the hermitage and the rest of the world.  
He later opened the mail box and retrieved four letters, one not a standard envelope, an expensive paper sealed with a small red cesello, like in ancient times. A sign of wealth, a sign of power. He already knew who the sender was and the content.  
The photo of two children and a birthday card, the wishes written in her elaborate callighrapy.  
"To my dear twin, happy birthday, Cersei."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Sansa Stark woke in a dark room with a feeble light from the window panels, open enough to let her see the iron bars securing the place.  
She was on her side in a narrow bed, her wrists were tied up in her lap, her feet kept together with a rope at her ankles; her mouth was dry, she was sure she had been drugged, during her training in the red cross ambulance service she was top of the class and one of the teachers declared it was a pity she didn't choose to become a doctor.  
A blanket was covering her, she touched the fabric of her dress to be sure she was still wearing it.  
Where was she and more important, why?  
The room was bare, her sight adjusted to the thin light, she saw a table against the wall with a plastic glass and a bottle of sparkling water.  
Her mouth screamed to drink it, but she felt too dizzy to try to stand up and grab it, her mind lost focus and she slipped back into a fractured sleep.  
The metal sound of a key into the lock scared her and she opened her eyes, two figures on the threshold, one holding a torch pointed at her, the other moving at her right, so she turned her face to see him.  
"Good afternoon, Signorina Stark." A man thin and tall, a light beard and refined features, wearing a dark suit, was speaking.  
"Who are you? Where is my family?"  
"No, no, Signorina, it is impolite to be so vehement with a new acquaintance."  
"You know who I am?"  
She closed her eyes to avoid the light that was hurting her.  
"It's obvious, I know a lot of things. The right information is a vital part of my work. I consider myself a man able to evaluate people."  
"What do you want?"  
"Again angriness, it is better you calm down, before I need to ask our friend here to give you another shoot. You want an answer, don't you?"  
She nodded, the arrogance of the man was disturbing her and she decided to let him speak.  
"Unfortunately, your family cannot join you at the moment so I'll have the pleasure of your company only. My name is not important, you can call me Avvocato, if you need to address me. We'll speak again tomorrow."  
He turned to leave.  
"Wait, please."  
He stopped, she lifted her bounded wrists.  
"I can't get the water bottle."  
"Oh, what a guilty forgetfulness of mine."  
The Avvocato made a simple gesture with his hand and another man moved form behind the torch and untied her ankles a little so that Sansa could stand and careful move a few steps.  
she was too fast in her first attempt and her legs were unable to support her, so she fell face down on the floor.  
"Never hurry up things, we'll talk soon."  
The Avvocato declared with a false smile before leaving, the door closing behind him with a loud thud.

Arya's mind went blank on the airplane, remembering only bits of her conversation with chief Inspector Tarth.  
Arya had tried to ask where her family was, sensing the inspector was ready to cut off their call.  
"I'll explain everything when we'll meet, Signorina Stark."  
Arya had looked at the silent phone like it was a strange object, then a faint blue light had appeared from one of the window; the butler run to see and open it, letting the chill night wind into the house.  
"It's the police, Signorina Arya." He turned toward Arya, who shivered, not from the cold.  
Then she remembered Sandor Hound sat beside her in the back seat of the police car, holding a trolley with just a bathroom travel set and a change of clothes and shoes, holding it like his dear life depended from keeping it safe.  
The airport lights were trying to break the night, the cold and the thin ice under her feet until she reached the narrow stair under the Air force plane.  
Two armed soldiers with red berets, tall and muscular, followed her, rifle in hand, face hidden under a woollen mask.  
Special corps, she was sure. Trained to kill.  
The hostess gave her a bitter black coffee, Arya drank it hot, without sugar, and it burned and she felt nothing.  
Her aunt Lyanna called thrice before Arya answered, she promised to join her niece south with the first plane taking off in the morning. Few spoken words, the two women were so similar they were often mistaken for mother and daughter.

The inspector in charge of the case was the tallest woman Arya ever saw; Brienne Tarth was probably around thirty, short blond hair and sad blue eyes. Arya remembered the surname from the list of basketball or volleyball players during her avid consumption of television sports channels; she had left the game a few years before but was still in excellent shape, her muscles visible under the blue shirt she wore.  
"Where is my sister?"  
Arya asked after inspector Tarth explained her the dynamic of the shooting, avoiding the gore details; when Arya slammed a fist on the desk and between clenched teeth pretended to know everything, the inspector had to admit the younger Stark girl was a great match.  
Ned Stark was a wealthy man, he created an strong family enterprise, owned various estates and was devoted to his family and his country.  
The way the killers acted was in full South style, the prosecutor told Arya in presence of Inspector Tart, it had been a power show against the Starks and the Tullies.  
And Arya was now head of House Stark, with Sansa disappeared, Bran in intensive care and cousin Jon, Lyanna's only son, in the army far away for a peace mission.

Arya accepted a public ceremony of mourning, the archbishop dressed in purple cloak, flowers covering the three coffins in the middle of the North's main cathedral, candles and incense burning during all the time, the choir singing nestled up above, around the ancient organ.  
The North was dressed in black, like the ribbons on the flags, the people inside the church, schools were closed for the day, children saw the hearses pass along the streets and throw flowers at them, white as the snow still lingering over the impending mountains, the spring sun couldn't melt all the snow.  
Arya was silent. She could not cry, not in front of the crowd.  
The surviving Starks and all the Tullies sat on the first benches with Sandor and the managers of Stark enterprise. Arya wanted only her cousin Jon – eyes dark for the pain and the jet lag - to stand by her side.  
The town major, the police chief, the Home Secretary representing the government went to her after the coffins left the cathedral and she simply shook the proffered hands and heard without listening their hollow words.  
She wanted revenge, she was sure the police wouldn't find the assassins and the instigators, so she had only a route to follow.

Arya and her uncle Edmure Tully held a private meeting with Syrio Forel, her father's most trusted assistant, a man Ned Stark met many winters before, when an avalanche threatened a mountain village and they both were volunteers in the emergency rescue team, spending a few nights patrolling the area with the trained dogs.  
The huge wall of snow had mercy of the houses and ended up to destroy a few barns only, in the most secluded part of the valley.  
"I need to know the names. I'm going to revenge my family and find Sansa. Isn't clear?" Arya repeated another time; she was determined not to be denied.  
"I'm sure police is investigating and the culprits would be soon found."  
Arya shook her head, rage was heating her face and Syrio thought she was right, sadly; her uncle's naivety was a nuisance for the young woman.  
"Edmure, you have lived abroad for a very long time, the situation here is difficult, mafia has expanded. It corrupts policemen, judges, politicians, I don't trust the police has the power to uncover the truth." Syrio explained to the other man.  
"I want my sister back, not a lifeless body." Arya's impatience to act was menacing.  
Syrio, in his youth a talented swordsman, Olympic silver medallist with the national team, was controlling his personal files.  
"Arya, I think I have a proposal to make."  
He turned the screen of his laptop and Arya saw an image, half white, half black, and the words private security service in the middle

Signorina is the italian word for Miss  
Avvocato is the italian word for lawyer/barrister


	3. Chapter 3

Cersei's Baratheon most recent lover was a young relative by marriage, whose widowed mother remarried with one of Don Tywin Lannister's cousin. Dark hair and eyes, Lancel was handsome and young like all the previous lovers, in contrast with her fat old husband.  
Robert Baratheon - known for drinking and whoring, abusing his life in every possible way - had been laid to rest a few months before, a first class funeral for the Don King and Cersei was flourishing, feeling free and young again.  
As a widow, mother of two, she could refuse other marriage offers and enjoy life like she did in her teen years.  
She used to meet her lover in a town hotel, close to her favourite shopping centre, to avoid prying eyes; she felt safe there, so she did not noticed the blond man with dark sunglasses and a baseball hat sat at the lounge bar on the ground floor, close to one of the hotel entrances.  
The hat partially covered a scar on his forehead.  
The man noticed Cersei and the young man, lowering the mirror lenses a little. A smirk on his face, he sat more comfortably on his armchair and ordered an iced coffee while taking some photos.

A man opened the door of Sansa's room and the Avvocato appeared; the light was stronger, but Sansa was unable to judge if a night had passed or not, she felt she was sleeping too much, too often, were they giving her some drugs to keep her quiet?  
He seemed relaxed, in total control, but he had such an aura of power around his figure that with moving a little finger only his men bowed in respect, he was able to obtain respect without scaring people with brute force.  
He handed Sansa The Evening Courier edition of the day, the front title was about the disappearance of Arya Stark  
Sansa's heart missed a few beats, at first she feared for her sister's life, then she read and read again the article and stared at Sandor's face. Photographed outside Witetrfell.  
Something was strange; Sandor was a man never able to hide his feelings and he wasn't broken or desperate, the photo was well defined and she saw he was worried, deadly worried, but not so worried as Arya was dead or kidnapped.  
Her sister was a survivor, Arya was able to sneak away to go skiing with her friends Gendry, Lommy and Hot Pie when she should have been home, without her mother noticing it, she learned to drive at seventeen from Jon in secret, if there was someone who could slip away unnoticed, that was Arya.  
Or simply Sansa could not admit the idea her sister was dead.  
Friar Jaime Lannister took the wows to escape the madness of his lifeand his family destiny, failing blatantly; Don Tywin Lannister let him go because he had another male heir.  
And the Don planned to make Jaime powerful inside the church, with the right connections to have a Lannister bishop soon, and maybe a Cardinal, later, if Jaime would apply to study and partake in games of power.  
People would kiss his ring like they kissed his father's, a sign of respect: the first cardinal into the family, wearing red, red for a lion.  
His sister thought it was a crazy idea, bat she was glad Jaime would remain celibate, a man of God.t should not betray his wows, poverty, obedience, chastity.  
But she had pleaded and begged and insisted and he had fall into her trap.  
A year of marriage, the confirmation of Robert's sterility.  
"Please, I need you, If I give him a child he'll stop treating me bad." She told Jaime  
A woman of the South knew the value of alliances, she couldn't divulge her husband's secret, it could start a war, it would means deaths.,  
"I can tell father he hits you."  
"No, you can't it was a confession what I told you."  
He was blackmailed, he believed priesthood would save him from of much he loved her; Jaime adored a woman only, his sister, and he gave in, so ten months after he was baptizing two twins.  
His hand trembled pouring drops of holy water on the blonde heads and when the baby girl opened her eyes he saw green, only green, green like him and cersei and all his family.  
Legacy of ancient conquerors from the West, because blond an green was stronger than brown and balck.  
Jaime asked the people inside the chapel to pray for the gift of life and no one heard his private prayer whispered over the infants draped in candid white and lace.  
"Father forgive me because I have sinned, but protect my children, they have no fault."

Arya Stark left the crowded train station – Gare du Lyon was a huge and tall building, outside she took note of the high tower that seemed a little absurd to hold only the giant clock - and she opened the door of the car rental office; her reserved car was ready, a very common silver grey Peugeot, a people's car; at home Father has gifted her of a brand new red Mini for her driving licence and she missed the ease at which she drove it.  
She signed the papers at the name of Arry Snow, showed her new documents, throw her light travel bag on the passenger seat with two bottles of fresh orange juice, turned the navigator on and drove west, trying not to get lot in the motorway system around Paris.  
She had only coordinates and a map to follow, not a name, nor an address, she registered under the name "No One" the phone number Syrio gave her, with the advertence it had to be used only in case of serious need,  
The roads were boring, yellow fields, crops, farms, silos for two long hours, a flat countryside; she was following the Route National, not the motorway, few cars she met during long traits from a village to another. She crossed department borders without noticing the names, then everything changed and green took over.  
The rain had lighted the land with life and everything was in full bloom, so different from her snowy hometown.  
Few scattered houses, small villages, she glimpsed she ble sea and wondered where her travel would lead her.  
After another two hours and a stop to use a bathroom and drink a coffee that paled if compred to her usual espresso, she noticed she had been alone on the road for a quarter of an hour or so and there were no traces of human presence.  
She rolled down the window and felt the ocean. Strong. Powerful. Loud cries of seagulls and the smell of seaweeds.  
The paved road ended at an iron gate, across it Arya saw a pathway slowly descending toward the sea.  
A text appeared from No one.  
"Open the gate, then close it and follow the stones."  
She noticed white round stones lined the left side of the driveway, until she entered in a group of trees. The sound of the seagulls was stronger.  
No one texted again.  
"Enter the woods. Leave the car under the roof on the right, close it and continue walking."  
She grabbed her bag and moved slowly as instructed, observing the surroundings.  
The pathway was getting narrow, so that only people could use it; it turned twice along the soft slope until she saw the house over the cliff, all white with a black door and black roof.  
A figure was standing at the entrance, the door was half open and the face was in partial shadow.  
She approached, a man went out and the first thing Arya saw were the hair.  
Red, kissed by the light of the sunset: No one was middle height, a white t shirt on a muscular chest and brown combat knee long trousers.  
At close distance, she saw his eyes, bluer than the sea bordering the beach under the house and she noticed the thin streak of white hair.  
"A girl arrived safe. Is a girl hungry? A man can share a meal with her."  
Arya nodded, surprised by his use of the third person.

"You can return home soon if we find an agreement. You're young and inexpert to rule a large business like your father and brother did. We are interested in an acquisition at a convenient value."  
Sansa looked at the Avvocato with huge eyes at first, then she tensed, her interlocutor was speaking too carefully, she could read his body language, some of his gestures where not coherent with his words; her sociology high school teacher gave her always good grades, she liked to read books about pedagogy and psychology, trying to convince Father to attend university away from home.  
She used to have complete faith in people when she was younger, but since her father started planning a M&A with a southern company, she was noticing changes in him.  
Sansa was very close to her father, Arya was probably the favourite child, Ned and Sansa shared a deep emotional bond; Ned liked to have Sansa in his office while he was working and she was studying , her silence and her presence soothed his mind and he felt he was faster in reading documents and taking decisions.  
Ned was more cautious and less cheerful at dinner or during family moments, Catelyn Stark at first tried to reassure Sansa, but her insistence made Catelyn confess Ned and Robb were in frequent meetings with uncle Edmure - her mother's family had been a co founder of the business - trying to find a good agreement. The people from the South had a different way to approach business and the Stark patriarch was having difficulties in fully trusting them.  
"Your father is worried, he thinks the lawyer of the Vale inc, the first company he had contacts with, is not a clear and transparent man."  
That name, Vale, sounded like a bell in Sansa's ears when she glimpsed it briefly on the folder Baelish opened in front of her eyes.  
Sansa's ability to notice details has been extremely useful in her favourite hobby, painting, she used to remember scenes from places and people of her trips and she took great pleasure in transferring to the canvas the yellow of a rose, the lollipop in a child's hand, the deep grey of stones wet by the rain.  
And this Vale reference meant Baelish was a man her father had not trusted and she better do the same.  
The Avvocato looked at Sansa with disappointment, the young woman had been a surprise, an unpleasant one, and her insistence in repeating she was not the owner of the majority of shares of Stark inc, because if Arya was declared dead the law asked for a few years of waiting and her brother for now could be unable to sign whatever needed paper, but he could improve, meant Sansa refused to give the signature Baelish needed.  
He'd find a way to make Sansa crumble. The Families needed to control Stark's business.


End file.
